Bulky: (adj) taking up much space

Very simply explained, if I can’t lift it or move it, then it’s bulky. Because I work under the premise that if I can getDictionary B my arms around it or my hands beneath it, there is nothing I can’t lift.

As I’ve gotten older, I have tried to overcome that little piece of macho, but somehow or another, I still feel it is my duty, as a male Homo sapien, to impress all the people around me–especially the females–with my physical prowess.

And by the way, that goes for opening jars, too. Fortunately, that particular duty is pretty simple. But every once in a while, you get one which has apparently been glued on. Then I get very nervous. I don’t want some other male god-figure to sweep in, pick up the jar and open it after I have failed to do so.

Then I would feel I should be taken to the Yukon North, placed on an iceberg and pushed out to sea to await my inevitable death.

Yes, it doesn’t matter how much sophistication we possess–sometimes, if we’re men, we hope something ends up being bulky so we can impress by moving it.

And I guess women occasionally pretend something is bulky–so men will have a reason to brag.


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j-r-practix-with-border-2Boy: (n) a male child or young man.

The ultrasound.

It’s when the doctor or nurse tells the parents whether they’re going to have a boy or a girl.

How is it determined?

The boy has a penis, the girl doesn’t.

It is an effective way of confirming sexuality before birth.Dictionary B

Yet it is a terrible way of illuminating humanity after birth.

For you see, we begin to do additional ultrasounds on our children throughout their upbringing.

  • Are they playing with the right toys?
  • Are the young men rough and tumble and the girls feminine and meek?
  • Are they crossing lines which connote there may be some ambiguity?

We silently push all of our children toward sexual stereotypes instead of trying to allow them to become human beings.

It is my contention that the penis and the vagina will find each other without us turning it into a cultural mandate.

What we should be doing is teaching our children how to be human.

We should be sharing the beauty of cooperation and the power of respect.

We should stop being afraid of blurring the lines between the male and female, and realize that the wall we’ve built betwixt them is the atrocity.

I was born a boy.

I struggled with my manhood, and now, by the grace of God… I am discovering my humanity.

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Both: (pron) two identified together

There is only one natural enemy of humankind.Dictionary B

It is called apathy.

Whenever it arrives, good becomes a little less glistening, and bad is viewed as too normal.

So we need both:

  • We need both believer and atheist
  • Republican and Democrat
  • Business and consumer
  • Rich and poor
  • Freedom and oppression
  • Give and take
  • Male and female

And as we look at each one of these possibilities, it is contingent upon our intellect and awareness to realize that truth lies in the midst of the disarray.

It would be wonderful if virtue would light up so we could follow it, or if evil smelled like farts. But it’s not that simple, is it? No–it takes our full concentration, attention, passion and involvement to make sure that we are at least attempting to find the common good.

In doing so, we defeat apathy.

Because if we don’t, it will destroy us.


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Bloke: (n) a man; a fellow.

Dictionary B

There is an unwritten rule of writing. (That sounds like an oxymoron.)

What I’m saying is that normally in the process of writing five hundred words, you try not to repeat any word more than once (which I just did).

So if for some reason, your story is talking about a fellow, or some guy, and you decide not to give this gentleman a name, then you are forced to come up with a series of words which represent a male.

It’s what I call “Roget Writing”–when you look up different ideas for the same thing in the thesaurus, in order to appear clever.

It is not only difficult and clumsy, but can become quite comical–because after you’ve used, “man, guy, fellow, chap, and dude,” you start considering inserting the word “bloke.”

Even though the person is not from “Down Under,” you take the risk anyway.

It’s one of those things that makes you look like an amateur, when the better solution is to give your character a name so you don’t have to keep describing him using as many macho representations as available.


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Beefcake: (n) an attractive man with well-developed muscles.Dictionary B

On those rare occasions when I find myself naked, I always avert my eyes from looking in the mirror.

Matter of fact, I’m a little reluctant to share that thought, because there are individuals who would consider my decision to not view my body as a negative or a sign of insecurity.

Honestly, I just find it smart.

There are only two things that can happen when you look in the mirror: some form of disgust, or an intruding pride.

In both cases, there is little benefit.

If I think I’m ugly, confirming that by my reflection is not helpful to the self-confidence required for me to survive a normal day.

Then again, if I peer into the mirror and believe myself to be beautiful–a beefcake–then an obnoxious pride will make me ill-suited to interact with those who may not completely agree with my assessment.

I also have known many women over the years, and will tell you that they are the most gentle, forgiving and open-minded beings on Earth concerning the physical weaknesses of the men who have come into their space. I suppose there are ladies who want to peer at men’s bodies with a lascivious leer, but women often close their eyes, allowing their imaginations to fill in the blanks to stimulate adequate lust for a great sexual encounter.

I am not a beefcake.

I am not willing to do what is necessary to become a beefcake.

So I am looking for friends and women … who have a sweet tooth for a cream puff.

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Beard: (n) a growth of hair on the chin and lower cheeks of a man’s face.Dictionary B

Call it an oversimplification, but I believe the three stages in the life of a man can be summed up as follows:

  1. Birth
  2. Arrogance
  3. Disproven.

The key to success in human life, wearing a male body, is to arrive at “disproven” with a sense of humor instead of disappointment.

So it was well after my birth, in my season of arrogance, that I decided I wanted to grow a beard. For the life of me I cannot remember what stimulated this notion, but understanding my mindset in that season, it had something to do with being sexy. Because being sexy in the arrogant period of macho life is Number 1 on the Top 5 of important goals.

Of course, you know the problem.

Each one of us is issued a body filled with genetic mishaps, and within that body are limitations. As it turned out, one of mine was the ability to grow a decent beard.

I should have suspected this since I don’t really need to shave every day and only do so to keep up with the “Bill Joneses.”

So since I don’t need to shave all the time, it’s highly unlikely that my face is going to suddenly sprout a bush.

And it didn’t.

It grew in various portions of acreage, leaving other areas deserted.

I was unable to grow any hair on my cheeks, so my beard made me look like I was trying to become a Jew instead of a gigolo.

I persisted.

I used eyebrow pencil to fill it in for a long time, before finally one day I looked in the mirror and pitied my poor efforts.

As it turns out, I can grow a mustache and a soul patch.

I call it a beard. This shall satisfy my need for arrogance as I continue on in my understanding of being disproven.


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Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Affiliate: 1.(v) to officially attach or connect to an organization 2. (n) a person or organization attached to a larger body

“Who are you affiliated with?”

“With whom are you affiliated?”

Whenever I hear either of these questions, I realize I am encountering someone who is discovering that I am not qualified to do what I do and is out to expose me or at least discredit my efforts.

It fascinates me that we live in a nation of freedom, liberty and supposedly independent thinkers, but we all scurry to the corners like cockroaches when the lights come on, making sure we have our little nest of individuals who agree with us, as proof of our credibility.

I don’t mind affiliating. I love to be around people. I enjoy folks. But I’ve always been a person who follows common sense with a side of spirituality and heartfelt emotion for dessert. Honestly, sometimes it’s difficult to sign on the dotted line with the causes made available to me because they don’t necessarily agree with that criteria.

  • I don’t make a good atheist–mainly because I believe in God.
  • I’m a horrible agnostic because I have actually seen faith work.
  • Republicans sniff me out and know I’m not part of the flock because of my generosity to people in need, and I am not totally convinced in the doctrine of “every man for himself.”
  • Democrats walk away shaking their heads sadly because I support the value of personal responsibility and don’t think that the taking of human life in any form, including abortion, possesses viability.
  • I’m a horrible Muslim. Bad knees. Can’t kneel on a carpet.
  • I can’t be Jewish. Too much ritual. Like my bread leavened.
  • Honestly, I don’t make a very good Christian because I like my life to be sparked by ideas instead of traditions.
  • I suppose in some ways I don’t make a great American male because I’ve never found pleasure in making fun of women when they’re not around.
  • Yet the females don’t accept me because … well, I guess that one is obvious.

I don’t have anything against affiliation. It’s just when I start following the butt of the person in front of you without seeing clearly where the crowd is heading, well … it makes me a little nervous.

So I have decided to try to get along with everybody the best I can, and in my private house of thought and worship, to allow the wisdom that trickles my way to rule the day instead of polling the masses.

So who am I affiliated with?

I guess anybody who’s willing to take me as I am.